Notes from An Alien

~ Explorations In Writing { and reading and publishing } ~

Friday Story Bazaar ~ Tale Thirteen

Three Priors

Alexander M Zoltai
Dedicated to
Bruce Lietze


Millie shifted her weight on the kneeling pads, set her spade aside, and grabbed the post to help her stand.

Before she could accomplish the task, she heard someone run by the yard; then, a plastic sandwich bag plopped onto the ground in front of her.

Next thing she knew, there were more pounding feet on the other side of the fence…

Next, a shout—“Halt!”—and a shot.

Without thinking, she pocketed the bag and finished standing up.

Looking over her fence, she saw a young man being held and handcuffed by three policemen.

They led him away (she was glad they’d apparently shot into the air and not killed the lad…) and she proceeded to her kitchen.

She sat at the table, remembered the bag, pulled it out, saw it had perhaps a hundred or so small seeds, and said, “Curious…”, as she removed her gloves.


Near evening, her friends, Lucy and Marge, arrived for their regular card game.

When it came time for Millie to place her first bet, she put on her gloves, retrieved the bag of seeds, and placed it on the table.

Marge stared hard at the bag and said, “Millie Lewiston, what the hell you doin’ with pot seeds!”

“Pot, are they?”

“Yes”, said Lucy, “those are pot seeds, Millie—illegal I’m sure.”

“Thought maybe they might be…  I’ll split ’em with ya’ll.”

Lucy and Marge stared silently…

“Come on gals, we just file for that new medical marihuana grow program; we’re sure old enough to have whatever’s needed to qualify, eh?”

Lucy and Marge continued to stare…


A week later they all had their grow certificates.

A month later they all had pot sprouts in their gardens.

A year later the young lad who’d pitched the seeds over the fence appeared at Millie’s front door.

Millie squinted at him as she said, “You look a bit familiar, son; whatcha want?”

“Um… I, uh…”

“Spit it out.”

“I got arrested last year; and, just before, I tossed a bag of seeds in your yard… You find ’em?”



“What kind?”

“Just some seeds…”

“Why’d ya toss ’em?”

“Did ya find ’em?”

“Why’d ya toss ’em?”

He stood there, mute…

“They was pot seeds, right?”


“But, why’d those cops arrest ya, did ya have somethin’ else illegal?”

“No. but I’d lifted some cash from my Mom…”


“She called the cops on me…”

“So why’d it take ya so long to come on back here?”

“I had three other priors…”

“Ah…  Come on in and sit a spell.”


By the time Marge and Lucy arrived, the young man and Millie were so happily chatting they didn’t hear the knock at the door.

Marge and Lucy, suspicion aroused—on guard due to the sound of a male voice—let themselves in and approached the kitchen…

Millie saw them and said, “Ladies, meet Mr. Three Priors, our Benefactor!”

Lucy and Marge stared silently…

The young man said, “I’m Ralph Smith.”, as Millie passed them a joint…


No, they didn’t let him share in their pot harvests.

They, in fact, admonished him to give up all drugs until he could prove a medical need for them.

It took them a while to get Ralph to agree; but then, they did have a bit of evidence against him—even plastic can hold a fingerprint…


Whenever Millie shared the story of their beginnings with medical marihuana, she always seemed to lose her memory when anyone asked where they got the seeds…


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